


Make It Easy

by ono no komachi sings mitski blues (mataestrella)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bisexual Armitage Hux, Gen, M/M, Rey and Kylo are siblings, ballroom dancing au, instead I ended up watching a bunch of ballroom dance competition clips and it got stuck in my head, my weakass attempt at self-indulgence via matador Kylo, secondary cast are mentioned briefly, so don't look for that here, top/bottom dynamics don't exist here, vader reference if you squint hard enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mataestrella/pseuds/ono%20no%20komachi%20sings%20mitski%20blues
Summary: Hux tried to escape the office cubicle monotony of his above average yet steadily lonesome life.  He instead encountered the careful grace and precision of a bullfighter attempting to dodge a forest fire.  And, perhaps, the end of his otherwise lackluster dry spell.a.k.a. The dance AU I have been sitting my flat ass on for ages, where Hux learns how to dance and Kylo is the seasoned dance instructor.





	Make It Easy

 

           No one would think that Armitage Hux would be interested enough to find himself surrounded by ladies in sparkling sequins and flowing satin trains.  Their faces dramatically painted in strong contours with eyes smoked at the corners, with vivid jewel tones and their hair tied into tight coifs.  Meanwhile, the men present on the other side of backstage exuded the suave demeanor of Casanovas of old romance novels voraciously consumed by the many dear women in his life (namely, his mother and her six sisters, and give or take ¾ of his cousins alone).  Lean, chiseled… some appear like Latin lovers, so swoon-worthy, out of 90’s telenovela classics; others look like they can be dashing princes hailing from noble houses boasting a splendid family tree.  Hux shouldn’t really be backstage with his fidgeting fingers on the hem of his perfectly tailored jacket, looking out of place like an upper division corporate chair in a sea of seasoned ballroom dancers in costume.  Funnily enough, he is simply a glorified pencil pusher at Seattle’s premier law office firm in search of a new hobby but turned into infatuation.  It has been exactly just a year since he started, yet he cannot figure out how he became so madly in love with competitive ballroom dancing.  Perhaps he fell for the precision and control that the human body is capable of when his limbs move along to the music.  Or could it be from the rush of adrenaline of being in the reins of transfigured raw emotions through the dialogue of two dancing bodies onstage?  His meditative silence broke off at the sound of the backstage hand calling for all the dancers to get ready in two minutes.  He dusted his trousers off from leaning against a wooden crate, straightened out any creases from his suit and took a deep breath.  All he can think right now, in that moment, is how he needed to keep his grip tight. And to never let go of his motivation, just like the hand he wanted to keep holding onto.

*******

            It was an autumn afternoon when he reluctantly accepted Phasma’s invitation to join her and her fiancée Carolyn to watch the Seattle Star Ball, a participating event to the national competitive ballroom dance tournament.  All he remembered the moment prior to meeting up with the couple at the lobby of the Hyatt Regency is Phasma’s barely concealed enthusiasm as she told him over the phone to, “Dress sharp!  Actually try to look like the hotshot lawyer you really are, but not like the zombie that normally takes your corner office and gets stuck in conference meets with our boss, Armie.”  When he finally saw the frame of a tall blonde in a gleaming silver Versace pantsuit engaged over drinks with a petite voluptuous woman in a glass bottle green dress, he quickly noticed a third body in the mix. 

There with them at the little bar table was a mousy brunette that he knows as Janice from Finance, looking unlike her dejected self for the previous six weeks he has seen her whenever they were in the copy room at the same time.  Her otherwise sea serpent-messy hair was smoothed into a somewhat neater braid, her eyes speckled with iridescent shimmer and accentuated by navy liner to match the nautical details of her well-fitting Sunday dress.  Hux lit up just a bit because Phasma, the ever-dependable wing-woman, has been cheering him on to finally ask Janice out since her previous five-year relationship ended abruptly.  It was finally his chance for a conversation with her that wasn’t based on office small talk, not that he or her were going pay attention to the event they were invited to participate in company of their peers, and he intended to seize it by reaching out to hold her hand over his first of Old Fashioned and her third Moscow Mule.

            Hux gathered all his nervous energies into a ball and tossed it into the mental recycling bin before he sidled up next to Janice at the bar.  “Say, Janice,” he uttered. “Nice seeing you out here out at a non-office event. How have you been?” _Crap,_ he felt the urge to slam his whole hand onto his face, _You just saw her yesterday sobbing into her panini at her desk, and made awkward eye contact for five seconds as you spilled your coffee down your best shirt.  Please ignore that, Janice, don’t even think I said anything._

Janice looked up to spare Hux a casual glance, as if she just noticed him right there next to her at the bar.  Her fingers remained permanently glued to the screen of her Samsung Galaxy, tapping some response quietly or swiping left at the viable prospects of her Tindr profile.  “I’m good, Hux.  Been enjoying my weekend so far,” she mused unenthusiastically. “Got to go to a fancy event, and got really great drinks out of it.”

Their exchange of shallow pleasantries continued nowhere beyond observations of the hotel venue as they made their way to find their seats around the competition dancefloor.  The wall was clearly still up.  She absolutely doesn’t want to pursue a workplace fling as a rebound, judging from how curt her responses was. Hux could already tell that he was trying a bit too hard to break his own streak of unsuccessful relationships.  Or rather, relationships that failed to blossom beyond the awkward fumble after dinner.  His latest one was his last year of university with a fraternity pledge—a SoCal beach boy taking Business Administration, cherubic with his sandy curls and eyes as sweet as the honeyed whiskey they found themselves sharing by the fire.  Seven years ago.

Phasma, as if she could sense his distress, asked to switch seats with Carolyn so she could keep an eye out for Janice and him. Hux relented from his exhausted attempts of trying to give a fuck about proving apparent heteronormativity, his own hand in his jacket’s inner pocket to fish out the thin flask he kept for insurance and proceeded to open it when he noticed how the whole room dimmed to make way for the bright lights to cast its stark glow at the couples standing on the floor.

            Despite the flashy swathes of vibrant floaties in a Viennese Waltz and the spark-like shimmer of sequins to a flashy Argentine Tango, none of the dancers on the floor kept him from taking longer pulls from his flask.  The wary glances Phasma gave him over Janice’s head as she and Carolyn spoke in low whispers of their running technical commentary of each competitor’s entries was indicator enough of her subtle disappointment of a wasted opportunity, which he chose to pass off as pity.  Or so his last sip from his flask told him, that is when his eye catches the final number of the evening taking their place on the stage.

            Standing with the steely grace of a cavalier before battle under a spotlight on the upstage left corner, stood a towering man with mid-length black hair and features carved out by Michelangelo himself (save for the curved bridge of his nose).  Under the downstage right corner spotlight was the sinewy sylph of a woman exuding the charisma of a calamitous force of nature, as she is draped in gauzy layers of crimson taffeta.  From what it appears, both entities on the dancefloor were about to launch into battle, and Hux couldn’t seem to look away.

            The first downbeat of the strummed guitars had both dancers circle their way to the center of the stage as if each person was sizing the other up.  The woman approached dead center with calculated movement; she was less the viper approaching prey and more like the slowly creeping wildfire.  The man, less possessed by impassioned just, was just as afraid to lose.  A pause of steady drumbeat launched the man to take hold of his partner by the shoulder before she shrugged his advances.  They proceeded to do mirror each other’s actions, to push when one begins to pull away, to pull closer as one tries to break free… To Hux’s limited context of what story the pasodoble tried to illustrate ( _quite successfully,_ in his rawest opinion), he was immediately captivated by the power struggle between the two partners.  He was rooting for the cavalier to finally conquer her until he succumbs to the victorious flames left behind by the wildfire.

            When the houselights came back on, Hux felt like his head had been underwater. He didn’t even register that Carolyn was calling for him as he stood up from his seat and let his feet carry him to God knows where, nor did he notice the change of mood in Janice after her fifth refill of drink making her bold enough to take Hux home.  It felt like a dreamlike trance he wanted to wake up from.  He found himself going to the little info desk to get a copy of the competition program and he thoroughly scanned through the list of competitors based on the style category.

            At the very end of the list, Hux now had a name to match the fierce, determined gaze of warm-colored eyes.  A name that had been on his workplace search history for weeks as he discovered videos and professional snapshots of the subject of his newfound curiosity holding his ex-partner (Rey Organa, his younger sister; he later learned that she retired from competition to pursue an engineering scholarship in Cal Tech) mid-dip.  The massive knot of tension Hux had on his shoulders dissipated as the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in seeped out in a long sigh of relief at the fact that Kylo Ren--- critically-acclaimed dancer and grandson of legendary Bolshoi Ballet danseur, Anton Vaderyshnikov--- has his dance studio in the other side of town.  And that studio was a 45-minute drive on his Kia Soul from the law firm.  But most importantly, Kylo Ren (his stage name, as all of the records of his given name were expunged as if that man never existed) was, reluctantly, looking for more students to maintain his studio’s rent due to his sudden leave from the competition circle.

            Hux immediately saved the address and phone number to the dance studio into his contacts one evening after putting off the reports to an embezzling case he had been mulling over with his stale cup of oolong.

*******

            His palms started to sweat a bit as he heard the announcer introduce all the participants to this year’s competition.  He couldn’t shake off that he could have been more prepared for this, even though he has been ready for months.  A warm hand comes to rest onto his shoulder, familiar like home before the owner perches his chin on the crook of Hux’s neck.

            “First competitions are rough,” said the once-cavalier, now donning the façade of some otherworldly specter, in black and gold. “My first competition had me running on five espressos and a can of Monster.”

            “Well, unlike you,” Hux coolly sighed through slow breaths. “I haven’t won any accolades to really put in my resume, Kylo. Who between us has a dance powerhouse legacy to uphold?”

            “Says the student on his way to become a master on your feet, babe.  You give me way too much credit since this is my first competing in a same-sex pair,” Kylo said as he nudged Hux’s side playfully.  He took a moment to look into Hux’s green eyes and offered a lopsided grin. “Besides, you’re the one taking the lead. And I am not worried about that at all.”

            Hux took Kylo’s hand and tenderly planted kisses onto each of his knuckles.  He bashfully gazed right back at his eyes before planting a quick peck for luck.  “You always know what to say.  You kind of make it easy not to worry.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This would be my first (in eons) that I've written a fanfic. If you know me and my previous work/s (if I can call those really short ones fics at all), this is the longest I have written for this particular fandom. The only reason it became this long is because it's been gathering dust in the drafts folder of my google docs and I had a short story due for my creative writing class, which I am currently still taking. To think I'd run away when the professor announced that these works will be read in class as a class showcase at the end of this semester -sweating profusely in anxiety-
> 
> (we shall not speak about the longer fics i have written from my fandoms in 2008, back when fanfiction dot net was the hub for fanfics; "let the past die," sayeth Kylo, so heed his advice) 
> 
> Anyway, I'd like to thank [@saltandlimes](https://twitter.com/saltandlimes) , [@cracktheglasses](https://twitter.com/cracktheglasses) and [@GeneralClamLent](https://twitter.com/GeneralClamLent) for bouncing back Russian names for our buddy Anakin Skywalker. Also huge thanks to [@webledhyacinths](https://twitter.com/webledhyacinths), [@st_hedge](https://twitter.com/st_hedge) and twitter user @h3llcat (she was the first to push me into making my matador kylo dreams into a reality) for their prodding to mcfucken write my ideas down. So here we have arrived. Thanks for reading.
> 
>  
> 
> Now I am off to hide under my covers forever.


End file.
